Camden

by Xio Axelrod

  "I guess I didn't watch the right made-for-TV-movies," Yara said, her voice small. "I was flipping burgers when he found me. I just wanted to sing."

  "He took your dream and turned it into a nightmare." Rory went straight to the heart of the matter.

  "I was given an allowance. My rent was covered, utilities, stuff like that. I had a clothing budget, but Marcus had to approve what I wore. To events, anyway.”

  As she spoke, Cam watched Yara shrink in on herself. It made him irrationally angry to think of her subjugated by someone like Marcus Kaine. By anyone.

  “He controls practically everything you do, where and when you perform. Where, when, and with whom you record,” she continued. “He tells you what parties you have to go to, and which ones you can't. Clubs, industry events. That sort of stuff."

  "No offense, love," Rory chimed in. "But that sounds like what managers do."

  Yara nodded. "Yeah, it does. It sounds legit. But...it feels more like slavery. He weighs us."

  Cam sat forward in his chair. "Weighs?"

  "We have to maintain a certain weight. A certain...appeal."

  "The fuck?" That from Pierce.

  Cam met his gaze across the room and nodded. Pierce turned back to Yara.

  "Did he...does he..." He swallowed hard, his fingers curling into the arm of the sofa. "Yara, I'm sorry if this sounds insensitive, but did he demand sexual favors from you?"

  Yara lowered her eyes, sinking into the chair like she wanted to disappear. Cam watched as she practically curled around the mug in her hands.

  His blood went cold, then hot. The edges of his vision turned red. The thought of that shitgibbon putting his hands on her made him want to rip flesh from bone.

  "Early on, he...we, um..."

  "You don't have to," Cam interrupted. He wasn't sure he could listen, though he needed to hear. Needed to know.

  "He never forced me," she was too quick to say. "But it was something like a perk to him. He acted like he had a right to me. When I turned him down, that's when it got ugly. But he never..." She met his eyes, and he nodded.

  "And the other girls?"

  She turned to Pierce.

  "I can't speak for them, but I know I was lucky with Marcus. I wasn't nearly as...as lost as some of them were when he found them. I'm kind of independent."

  "No kidding." Cam chuckled, grateful for the reprieve.

  She smiled. It was small, but it was there. And then it evaporated.

  "He thinks he's God. He plays God with our lives, and I know a few of the girls who think he is God. They'll do whatever he wants, so I can only imagine what he asks of them."

  "Shit." Pierce ran a rough hand over his face. He met Cam's eyes, his full of guilt and apologies. "Rory, can you run a background check on Kaine? Dig into police records. A guy like that has to have one."

  Rory set his cup on the floor and got to his feet. "On it."

  He left, presumably for his office which admittedly looked like a scene out of The Matrix with its wall of monitors. Cam's cousin was an expert at scouring the web for information. Shame they hadn't used him on this case from the beginning.

  Yara watched him go and then turned to Cam. "What are you going to do?"

  "We're going to verify what you're saying," Pierce answered her. "And if what you're saying is true, we're going to take him down."

  Eyes wide, she turned to Cam. The hope in her face nearly wrecked him. A little of her light returned, the light he'd seen in videos of her live performances. He was glad to see it.

  "You're really going to help me?"

  He nodded once. "We going to get you your life back."

  Her eyelids fluttered as she blinked fast. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

  Cam held her gaze, got caught in it and, for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared.

  "Don't thank us yet," Pierce said, breaking the spell. He looked at Cam, a smirk playing around his mouth.

  Don't say a fucking word, Cam tried to convey with a look.

  You're in deep shit, came Pierce's silent reply.

  Cam knew. Boy, how he knew.

  Seven

  Though Cam had insisted on walking her back to the Franklin Inn, he hadn't said a word to Yara since they'd left the Skin offices.

  Not that she had much to say to him anyway, she barely knew the man. And the jury was still out on whether or not he could be trusted.

  Her brain screamed no but other parts, specifically her gut, told her he was the one person she could put her faith in above most others.

  There was something about the way he looked at her, looked after her, that made her feel both secure and uncertain. It was the ease in which they'd fallen into step that made her wary.

  The last man that seemed to get her, seemed to understand what she needed and had promised to help her achieve it, was Marcus.

  And look where that had gotten her.

  Camden Skinner was no Marcus Kaine, but he may have been something even more dangerous. Yara would need to keep her distance, despite the way his eyes grew warm for her and how gentle his hands could be.

  "Are ye hungry?"

  Yara glanced over, but he wasn't looking her way as they crossed a busy Market Street.

  "I could eat."

  He grinned, revealing a dimple she hadn't seen before. Dangerous.

  "You are a true Philadelphian." He steered her toward the middle of the sidewalk as they made their way down the street, putting himself between her and the curb. It was so smooth that she almost hadn't realized what he was doing and doubted he did either. Instinctively protective.

  He looked up from his phone, which had occupied all of his attention.

  "There are a lot of choices around here, but I suggest we go somewhere with a small crowd."

  The Old City section of Philadelphia was a foodie's dream, with something to suit just about every taste bud. Yara had loved spending her weekends down there as a teen, and even more bars and restaurants had sprung up in the years since she moved to Miami.

  The scent of curry filled the air as they passed one doorway, only to give way to the smell of garlic, tomatoes, and basil pouring out of the next. She spied Cam's pub, already brisk with activity.

  "You're not working at Skinner's tonight?"

  Cam shook his head, finally glancing down at her. "No, I’m not there every night. Not yet, anyway."

  "You plan to, though? Be there full-time, I mean."

  Instead of answering her, Cam stopped in front of a nondescript black door. "You like mussels?"

  She made a face, and he actually laughed. The sound did funny things to her.

  "What? Don't tell me you haven't tried them because yer too chicken." He was teasing her.

  "They're slimy."

  "If they're slimy, then you don't eat them, love." He opened the hefty door and gestured her inside.

  Love.

  The word should be illegal in that accent.

  Despite her reservations, both of the man and of the cuisine he'd suggested, Yara pulled her hat down and stepped inside. She was immediately assaulted with the scents of garlic, wine, and something else she couldn't put her finger on.

  The place was small, old, with wood-paneled walls so thick with varnish they were almost mirror-like. The room was long and narrow, with a bar on the left and a few cocktail tables on the right with high stools. A narrow staircase led to the second floor.

  With a hand on the small of her back that made her jump, Cam led her to the stairs.

  "Sorry," he said into her ear as they ascended. "It's never busy up here on weeknights."

  He was right, the place was deserted.

  A petite blond filled Mason jars with sugar behind the bar. She looked up when they passed her on the way to the table by the window.

  "I'm not sure we're serving up here tonight."

  Cam smiled. It was the smile, the one she'd seen him use that night at Skinner's. The one infused with all of his consi
derable charms.

  "Fergus lets me eat up here when I need to get away."

  The blond's skeptical eyebrow lowered. "You must be Camden."

  "The one and only."

  She looked at Yara.

  "This is my cousin, visiting from out of town."

  "Sure." Screwing on the last of the lids, she gathered the jars into a basket. "I'll send Kat up to take your order."

  "Thanks."

  They sat and what followed could only be described as an awkward silence. Camden was clearly uncomfortable, though Yara had no clue as to why. She was the one living incognito, hiding out in a city she knew better than her own name.

  "Maybe I should go back across the bridge to Jersey."

  Cam's head popped up from where he'd been perusing the day's menu.

  Dark hazel eyes met hers when she removed her sunglasses.

  "We need to get you some contacts," he said after a beat. "The clothes and the snapback are a good disguise, but your eyes..."

  He trailed off.

  Yara waited for him to finish, though he didn't need to. She knew. Still, it looked like he had more to say as he held her gaze. Eventually, she looked away. That seemed to break the spell.

  "I'll text Rory. Ask him to pick some up from the costume shop."

  "Thanks." Yara fidgeted with her napkin. "I've never worn contacts. Or glasses."

  "Well, you're eyes are perfect, so..."

  Yara looked up at Cam.

  "Your vision, I mean." One corner of his mouth tipped up into a half-grin. "Twenty-twenty, right?"

  "Yeah, I suppose."

  He nodded. "Youth. Wait until you're my age and things start to go fuzzy around the edges."

  Yara laughed. "Your age?"

  “It’s a big difference, love. Trust me."

  Yara grinned, nodding. "Okay, old man. What's good to eat here?"

  Cam set the menu on the table just as a waitress, Kat, presumably, walked over.

  Yara pulled the bill of her cap down over her eyes.

  "Could I start you off with some drinks?"

  "Yeah, I'll have a Kenzinger's. Marie?"

  "Uh." Trying to read a menu when it was so close to her face proved impossible. "Just water, thanks."

  Camden scoffed. "Water? No. Well, yes. Two waters. And bring my cousin a Strongbow, will ye? Thanks."

  "Coming right up."

  Yara dropped the menu. "Strongbow?"

  "You'll love it, trust me." He sat back in his chair looking every bit like a man in his element. "I've been curious about something."

  "Oh?" Yara mirrored his posture, leaning back. The chair's back was too high for her, though, and it dug uncomfortably into her shoulder blades.

  "We can move to a booth if you want."

  Yara narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "How do you know what I'm thinking and feeling. And not just me, you do it with Pierce and Rory too."

  "Ah, well." Cam ran a hand across the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. "You, well, you're pretty easy to read."

  "Thanks," she deadpanned.

  "I don't mean it in a bad way," he said, chuckling. "You're guileless."

  "I have plenty of guile, thank you."

  Cam slowly shook his head, a fond expression on his face. "No, love. You don't."

  The waitress returned with their drinks, sparing Yara anymore of that awkward moment.

  "One Kenzinger’s, and one Strongbow. And here's a glass of ice, just in case."

  "Ta," Cam flashed his arresting smile at the brunette. She winked and sauntered off.

  Instead of heading back downstairs, she slipped through a pair of swinging doors at the back of the room. Yara caught a glimpse of a busy kitchen before they shut again.

  "Cheers." Cam tapped his bottle against Yara's.

  She picked hers up and studied the label. "Cider? Isn't that, like, apple beer?"

  Cam grinned around the mouth of his bottle. He shook his head before taking a sip.

  "Try it."

  Yara tipped her bottle up to her lips for the tiniest of sips. She never had acquired a taste for beer. But this...this was crisp. Refreshing. Not too sweet.

  She smiled, taking a larger drink.

  Cam's eyebrows flicked up once. "Yeah?"

  Swallowing, she nodded and set the bottle down. "Not bad."

  "See, I knew you'd be a cider girl."

  Yara settled back in the chair and looked out the window. It was old, the panes warped and probably made by hand. They offered a distorted view of the bustling street below. Bodies melted into one another. The break lights of the passing cars looked almost demonic through the bubbled glass.

  She had a sudden desire to be down there, walking with everyone else. Just like everyone else. She wondered if she'd ever have that again.

  "What do you want?"

  Cam's voice startled her and Yara turned to fund him watching her with those all-knowing eyes.

  "I'm not that hungry."

  A ghost of a smile drifted over his lips. "I wasn't talking about the food, though you will eat. You're skin and bones."

  She rolled her eyes. "Right."

  "I prefer your curves."

  Yara let that hang in the air for a bit, because, yeah...okay.

  "What do you want, when this is all said and done?"

  The black lettering on the menu was thickly printed and slightly raised. Yara ran her fingertip over it.

  "I want my life back."

  "Which life?"

  She looked up and shrugged. "Any life that isn't under the control of Marcus Kaine."

  Yara noted the tick in Cam's jaw when she said her manager's name.

  "You don't like him."

  "I don't like anyone that uses women," he ground out. "I don't like anyone who gets off fucking over others. And I don't like being used."

  Yara wondered which of those three things took precedence. "You've made a lot of money fucking people over for others."

  Cam flinched. Then nodded. "Aye, I have. And I hate myself for it."

  "Then why did you do it?"

  He exhaled. "Skin isn't what it once was."

  "Is that why you're leaving? Why you left?"

  He nodded. "I guess you could say, like you, I want my life back."

  He tipped the bottle back, draining it, and Yara became distracted by the muscles of his throat as they worked the liquid down. Her gaze traveled across his shoulders and down his torso until it disappeared under the table.

  When she met his eyes again, his were smiling.

  "Not the only thing we have in common, it seems." His focus zeroed in on her mouth, and Yara returned her attention to the street below.

  "Change is good," she said, more to herself than to him.

  "Aye. Can be," he replied. "As long as yer running to something and not just away."

  Yara turned back to face this man she barely knew, but who spoke like he had a direct line to her desires.

  "What are you running toward, then?"

  He crossed his massive arms, studying her. "A better me. And you?"

  Yara nodded, lifting her drink to take a sip. "Same."

  "Nah," he countered. "You're fine the way you are, it's your circumstances you want to change. No?"

  "I sold out," she admitted out loud for probably the first time. "I walked into this situation with my eyes open. Okay, maybe I didn't know how bad it would get, maybe I thought I could do a couple of mindless projects, make money, make my name, and get out."

  "Nothing's that simple." Cam leaned forward, his elbows on the table. It brought him close enough for Yara to smell the beer on his breath, citrus and barley.

  "No, I don't suppose it is." She shrugged. "Lesson learned."

  Cam's laugh was dry. "That's a hell of a lesson."

  "Sounds like we've both learned the hard way."

  He tipped his head to her. "Indeed."

  Yara held his gaze, finding it too easy to get lost in the
forest green of his eyes. There was so much depth there, so much hidden, so much she wanted to explore.

  And, no.

  No way in hell.

  She'd made enough bad choices to last her a lifetime. And yet, he was helping her.

  "Thank you," she said.

  His eyes widened. "For?"

  "This. Helping me. You really didn't have to."

  Cam frowned, leaning back. "Yes, I did."

  "Part of your path to redemption?"

  He blinked slowly, looked over her shoulder and out the window. Yara watched his mouth moved around words that never made it past his lips before he finally answered.

  "Whether it is or not, I'm not leaving your side until this is resolved."

  The conviction behind his words threatened to take Yara's breath. This man, he was something else.

  "I believe you."

  He smiled, slow and a little cocky. "You should. I'll never lie to ye."

  Yara laughed as the waitress made her way back to their table.

  "Never is a mighty long time, Mr. Skinner. A mighty long time."

  The waitress hesitated before placing two sets of cutlery before them. She glanced back and forth between the pair, lingering on Yara more than was comfortable.

  Yara kept her head down over the menu.

  "I'm sorry, I'm staring," the woman said, laughing nervously. "It's just that you look a lot like that singer, whats-her-name?"

  Across the table, Cam stiffened. "She gets that a lot. Can we order?"

  "Uh, sure. Sure." The brunette fumbled in her pocket for her notepad and pen. "What'll it be?"

  Yara hadn't even looked at the words on the menu. The thought of having her cover blown had overridden the gnawing hunger in her stomach.

  Cam had no such issue.

  "Burger for me, Garlic mussels for my cousin, here. Pomme Frites for two, and the herb aioli, if Jacque has any."

  The server jotted down the order and picked up Cam's empty bottle. "Another?"

  He nodded.

  "And you, miss?"

  Yara shook her head and handed over her menu, turning immediately toward the window. She was tempted to pull the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. This was ridiculous.

  "We'll let you know," Cam supplied, effectively dismissing the young woman. His tone was polite but firm, and the girl got the hint.